Late Night

Late orange light reflected from the lake Leaps up into the mountains shade, And suddenly a crouching wind Claws at pale, trembling aspen leaves; A startled elk, foamed water dripping From his lips, retreats back from the shore, His wary head held stiffly high As in an earlier imaging. Perhaps this scene may be composed Of some sharp sliver of a memory As if I once lived by a lake; maybe a dream Of languid autumn water darkening, Of loons lamenting my hearts own lament” For what? for whom? I cant recall The real cause of my gloom or what I thought the startled elks eyes meant. Dissolved in forest shade, the elk Huddles among hushed fallen leaves, and I Can see his lurking absence everywhere My glum mind seeks to look, And I can listen to the aftermath Of moaning loon calls intermingling All across the undulating lake Along the sprung winds swirling path. And I myself also have vanished From the rippling shade of aspen leaves, Except as whirling consciousness, Like lilting loon calls echoing Over lake water when the loons depart, And wind returns to linger just as wind, And looming mountain peaks merge with blank sky, And silence settles in my silent heart.